Just closing some bookmarks

On the day before Thanksgiving, I’m finally getting around to checking off some stuff I’ve saved on Bloglines for quite awhile. Let’s hope some of this is still up:

* Better Late Than Never: It’s only been, what, 20 years since “A Year in Provence” was published, but that didn’t stop Janice Harayda from parodying it. Since I’m a Peter Mayle fan, I find this extremely amusing. By the way, did you know he got his break writing a puberty guide for kids?

* Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Cults Club Band: Bill Crider links to this painting of notable cult-movie figures, including Kevin Smith, Leatherface, Frank N Furter and more. I managed to get about 2/3rds of them, but the guy in the coffin eludes me.

* Horning in on His Brother’s Turf: Making a career out of calling people fucktards is no impediment to success, as Tod Goldberg explains.

* The most unusual version of “The Great Gatsby” ever: Beating out the Robert Redford/Mia Farrow movie by a mile. A comic book version featuring sea creatures and stamps. Trouble is, you’ll never get to read it in the United States, thanks to Congress’ insane extension of the copyright act.

* Showing Tess Gerritsen the Link Love: Turns out I have three: Why action sequences in novels are boring; What I’ve learned from two decades in the business; and How shit can happen to even best-selling authors.

* Finally: An auction catalog I can really sink my teeth into: King, Stephen. SKELETON CREW. London: Macdonald, 1985. Hard Cover. Very Good/Very Good. First British Edition.
“A well preserved old turd of a book. Items like this make me angry. Essentially the book is in fine condition with very clean brown boards, a rock-solid spine with very fine gold stamping and a clean, glossy dust jacket. However, what really pinkels me off is that the head and heel of the spine, whose structural integrity could have been preserved with a modicum of care, have given way to gravity, because someone was careless enough to allow this to happen when the book was packed or read. All in all a fine copy, but for the careless handling of the spine’s extremities. As publishers already handle their books like potatoes and sell them in supermarkets, I wouldn’t be surprised if the printed word were sold by the kilo in years to come. “I’ll have a pound of sprouts, a bunch of grapes, four Cumberland sausage rings and 24 pages of the latest Stephen King, pleeze”!!!.

And, yes, I’m still here and I’ll still be posting.